


Of Mortuaries and Riding Crops

by Sulla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/5880.html?thread=21081080#t21081080">prompt</a> on the kinkmeme, which read as follows:<br/>I would love to see a fic which has Sherlock using a riding crop (or flogger or whip or any other similar instrument)on a corpse with John watching. John finds it really hot and is so turned on he can't wait so he drags Sherlock into a closet or empty office and begs him (Sherlock) to fuck him (John)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Mortuaries and Riding Crops

John wasn't sure what was happening, but the look on Molly's face did not bode well. He was used to seeing unhappy expressions on the faces of people who ran into daily contact with Sherlock, but sometimes he couldn't quite figure out what was causing them.

"Didn't you do this last year?" she asked the consulting detective.

"No, that was for another case, to check a specific bruising pattern. This time it's different - bruising caused by trauma to only one specific area of the body," replied Sherlock, as usual managing to come across as both caustic and pedantic.

Molly's right eyebrow crept skyward. "A specific area...?"

John watched the interplay of expressions between the two of them, feeling as if he were a spectator at a tennis match. Sherlock was tapping his thigh absently with the riding crop he had insisted on bringing along with them to St. Bart's today.

"Yes, and none of your concern," replied Sherlock. "Tell me about the subject."

"...yes. Right. Thirty-four year old male, fit condition, construction worker, donated his body to the hospital for research. He's been dead 26 hours."

Sherlock had walked around to the gurney and opened the glossy black body bag to look inside.

"I'll need him turned over onto his front," Sherlock instructed, and John searched his face again for any hint of where this was going, but was disappointed by his partner's blank features.

Molly paused one of those long, lingering pauses, and then replied, "Right then. I'll have one of the mortuary workers get on it. Everything should be ready in half an hour."

"Much obliged," Sherlock replied, already halfway out the door, crooking his finger at John to indicate for him to follow.

"What was that about?" John asked, his interest piqued.

"Nothing. Just an experiment. I want you take a look at these x-rays, if you would, doctor..."

*****

The two of them return at half-six, as Molly had indicated, and they found the mortuary deserted. The body was on the table, stripped of it's body bag and turned over onto its front, exposing pallid white buttocks that darkened to purple at the highest points. John was aware that this was probably caused by the blood having come to rest at the bottom-most parts of the corpse over the nearly 27 hours, and now when it was turned over, and the blood had clotted, those parts that had been the lowest were now the highest and were therefore discoloured.

He'd been so busy noting the changes in the body that he'd not noticed that Sherlock had taken off his ubiquitous coat and had rolled up his shirt-sleeves, baring the long, well-muscled forearms that John loved to run his fingers along and touch lips to. He took a moment to drink in the sight of his lover, and found that he still had that visceral thrill going through him that he's have thought would have paled by now. But it had not, and for this, John was glad.

John leaned back against the counter at the back of the room and watched Sherlock pick up his riding crop with one fine, long-fingered hand. He handled the crop as he handled his violin bow - with grace and precision. He tapped the crop against his hand several times, eyes roving over the corpse, obviously scanning for various minutiae that John would never have a hope of noticing, much less cataloging.

Sherlock was painting for John such a picture of dignified stillness that at first he didn't notice the raised crop. But his attention was riveted to that arm as it began to rise up and down so quickly that all movement seem a blur to John's rather shocked eyes. The mortuary was filled with the sound of solid smacks and thwacks, and the whistle of air passing as the crop was raised and lowered over and over on the buttocks of the corpse.

John's eyes were wider than he felt he'd ever opened them before. What on earth was he witnessing? Sherlock worked the body over like a man possessed; not an inch of posterior flesh was spared the bite of the crop. Sherlock's curly black hair was flying into the air and back into his eyes with each stroke, and his breathing was becoming more laboured the longer he kept at it. And to John, it felt like that was a very long time indeed.

John knew he should feel horrified. And he did. Really and truly. Watching this kind of violence inflicted on a person or object that could not truly consent was hard to bear. But there was something to the process that struck a chord in John. Sherlock's face, rivited to its work. Sherlock's arm flailing over and over to meet its mark. The stance of his body as he pounded away with the crop. Something about the combination was speaking to John, and in such a way that John was very soon going to be very, very embarrassed if he didn't leave the room.

John turned his back, rubbing one hand over his face. The sounds of the beating went on behind him, and he could perfectly visualize each stroke and the way his lover looked administering the it. Oh god. John had an completely inappropriate erection, and it wasn't going away. He was absolutely horrified. He stood there for a moment or two longer, and when the noises didn't stop, he started edging for the door of the room. Maybe he could go out in the hall and calm down before Sherlock noticed.

Speaking of... John looked back over his shoulder at Sherlock. The man was still going at it, in profile to John, and John could clearly see that Sherlock was not at all having the problem that the doctor was. He was not aroused by the flogging he was administering to the corpse, and while John was very glad of this, he also felt all the more horrified at his own reaction. He had to get out of that room!

John was only able to take one step towards the door before Sherlock caught him.

"John? John! Where are you going?"

John didn't look at Sherlock; he kept his eyes on the doorknob, which his hand was currently reaching for.

"What? Oh, uh, just out in the hall, wanted to get a drink of water..." he said, the end of the sentence petering out into what was little more than a mumble. Sherlock had finally stopped the flogging, and when John turned around to look at him, he looked glorious. Hair all over the place, eyes flashing, cheeks red and chest heaving, Sherlock looked like something out of a romance novel. And the way he was standing blocked the key part of the corpse from John's view, so even that didn't diminish the impact that the vision of his partner had on him.

John was officially _sprung._

"Oh," Sherlock replied, "well, I'm finished here, so I'll go with you."

He picked up a neatly folded sheet that had been on the lower portion of the gurney, and spread it out with a flourish so that it covered the corpse.

"I'll just leave a note for Molly to check the bruising pattern in the morning and I'll come back tomorrow to make a graph of the pattern. The Sanders case may put to rest sooner than I'd thought!"

Sherlock sounded very pleased indeed. John had no idea what he was talking about; not only did Sherlock like to keep key portions of his work to himself, all the better to make a more amazing final revealing speech when a case was closed, but John simply couldn't keep his mind out of his trousers. He was still hard as a rock, and fairly throbbing with desire. They'd not had time for a solid fuck for weeks, and it was certainly telling.

As Sherlock turned to lay his crop down on the counter, John tried to unobrustively adjust himself so that his cock was flat up against his belly instead of pinned down by his leg, and for a moment he thought he'd gotten away with it. But when Sherlock looked up and met his eyes, it was with a definite knowing smirk. John flushed bright red, and he knew he looked ridiculous, and this made him flush even further.

"I didn't know you were so interested in flogging, John... would you like me to try it out on you?"

John spluttered for a moment, absolutely taken aback. They'd been together as lovers for about six months now, and had a decent background basis in their relationship as friends, colleagues and flatmates before that. In all this time he had never wanted to engage in any type of flogging, and he still didn't want to. Did this mean Sherlock did?

Sherlock seemed to read John's question in his face. "No, it's not something I'm overly partial to, but if it's something you'd like to explore, I'm game. You know me; I'll try anything once. And many things more than once," he grinned wickedly at that last.

John was somewhat relieved. However, his lover had stepped closer to him and was leaning in to push his face against John's neck... it really had been too long since they'd had time together. John's erection was throbbing in his pants, a wet spot spreading on the front of his trousers from the leakage of his precum. He wanted Sherlock, and he wanted him now.

He paused, looking around the room, and then, stepping to the door, peeked out into the empty hallway. Back in the room, he whispered into Sherlock's ear.

"You don't... you don't think we could... could... you know..."

Sherlock pulled back from where he was lipping his way down John's neck. "What? What would you like, John?"

Damn the man! Sherlock always did this to him. Always made him ask for it, made him beg for it. And he would always manage to get John so bloody randy that he couldn't hold himself back.

"Fuck. A fuck. I'd like a fuck, Sherlock. You, fucking me. Hard. Right here in the hospital."

"Right here in the mortuary?"

"What? No!" John spat. No matter how turned on he was, he wasn't having sex with a corpse in the room.

Sherlock was busy licking his way from John's clavicle to his earlobe. "Hmmmm, if I remember correctly, there's an office just down the hallway. How would you like it if I fucked you over the desk there? Or laid you flat on your back, knees up, arse open, and buggered you soundly on some scientist's papers?"

John shivered with want, and his cock pulsed out another dribble of pre-ejaculate directly into his pants. Oh god, did he _want_. "Yes. Yes. Sherlock. Yes. NOW."

Sherlock grinned wickedly and opened the door, taking John by the shoulder and maneuvering him out of the room with a pat to his arse.

"Hey!" John yelped, his dignity in tatters.

"You deserve no less, you wanton whore of a man," replied Sherlock in an undertone as they tried the door to the office. Yes! It was unlocked. They slipped inside.

"Wanton... wanton _whore_? Who's the one spanking the arse of a _corpse_?"

"John, that's for _science_!"

"Oh, that's what you always say..."

"Strip, John. Right now."

John couldn't hold back another shudder at the command. He quickly unbuckled his belt and let his trousers drop, following shortly with his pants. He didn't have the time to take them all the way off, because Sherlock had opened his own trousers and eased them down just below his balls and was crowding John backwards against the first desk in the room. Sherlock stroked his cock twice before lifting John up bodily and placing him on his arse on the desk.

"Would you please not..." John was grousing, prickling as he always did when Sherlock picked him up, but he didn't get to finish, because Sherlock had gripped his hips and was now _grinding_ their groins together. Their cocks battled head to head, their balls mashed up against each other, their pubic hair mixed black on blond and long sticky trails of pre-cum attached their cocks to their stomachs where they kept slapping back as they flexed their hips. Both men were looking down at their genitals, watching avidly. Finally, Sherlock took their two cocks in hand and, producing a sachet of lubricant with the other, slicked them as one to ease their motions.

John's head fell back on his neck with a groan, and Sherlock nuzzled his exposed adam's apple, pausing to bite gently at the protruding piece of flesh. John's hand came up to rest in Sherlock's wild hair, holding him in place at his throat, encouraging him to bite and suck at the skin there. He could feel a bruise rapidly rising, and he resolved to wear a shirt with a collar the next day and was happy to do so. They kissed long and hard, the sounds of their moist mouths interlocking loud in the small office.

It seemed Sherlock was ready finally ready to go when he placed a palm at the centre of John's jumper-clad chest and urged him to lie back on the desk. John obeyed, and as soon as he did so, Sherlock finished pulling John's trousers and pants down to his ankles, but then took the whole mess in one hand and raised it up, bending John's knees and pushing them back against his chest. In effect this strapped him down on the desk, and bared his engorged cock and balls for all the world to see.

John took a deep breath, taking in the warm, spicy smell of his lover, overlaid by a hint of the musky, male scent coming from their exposed groins.

Sherlock held John in place with the tangle of clothes around his feet up by John's head, and quickly lowered his head, licking a strip from the base of John's balls up to the tip of his dripping cock. John moaned quietly, clenching his hands up by his head, feeling totally impotent and out of control.

John didn't have long to focus on the sensation however, as Sherlock smoothly dipped lower, licking, kissing and nuzzling John's perineum with his nose, and then using his free hand to spread John's cheeks, he licked his way down to the tight little aperture he found in John's cleft. Sherlock began to focus all of his attention on this tight little hole, licking circles around it and stabbing his tongue against it over and over again, causing John to grunt repeatedly with each breaching of his body. Soon Sherlock was adding slicked fingers into the mix, and before he knew it, John was accomodating four lovely fingers in his hole.  
m  
"Now, Sherlock," John moaned, forgetting to be embarrassed by the desperate quality of his voice. Sherlock took him at his word, and pulled out his fingers. John watched as Sherlock stood and watched for a moment, staring at the widely stretched anus, dark red at the edges and trying to wink shut on nothing. Sherlock spat down on the edge of the hole, and then rubbed his saliva into John's skin there. He picked up the lube sachet from beside him on the desk again and squeezed out a dollop of it to spread over his long, thick prick.

"Now Sherlock..." moaned John, finally growing impatient. Sherlock didn't make him wait any longer. He placed the head of his cock at John's hole and shoved, encasing himself completely in John's tight, hot body. He leaned over John, bending him completely double so that he could reach down and give him a kiss. Their tongues entwined for a moment and then Sherlock straightened up again to start thrusting into John's waiting body.

Gripping John by the hips, Sherlock yanked him closer to the edge of the desk, making it easier for him to pick up a good rhythm and pummel John's body well and good. John arched his back and curled his hips up into each thrust, driving his lover deeper and deeper into his body, working with Sherlock to make sure his prostate was hit as often as it could be.

The time they had gone without sex was taking its toll, and already Sherlock was nearing completion. He picked up John's cock with one slick hand and wanked him furiously, squeezing and stroking, working his foreskin over the glans and fondling his sack, playing with first one testicle and then the other. Back to his cock again, and he applied steady, fast stroking action which finally culminated with a yelp from John and a shot of semen that reached his chin. Unfortunately, John hadn't had the foresight to pull up or off his jumper, and the material was now covered with several spurts of come. Luckily, thought Sherlock, it would be hard to notice, as it was John's old favorite, the beige cabled one he seemed to like so much.

John was trembling with his release, and his body was spasming rhythmically, squeezing down on Sherlock's churning cock with the pulses of his ejaculation. Sherlock finally let go of John's cock and gripped his hips again. The motion of their coupling had sent John's body halfway across the desk, knocking over a few sheafs of paper, unnoticed by either man. But Sherlock just yanked John's hips back to the edge of the desk where he wanted them and proceeded to ream the man out.

John was almost too sensitive to go on at this point, so Sherlock did not aim for his prostate any longer, and John was able to lay back and enjoy the feeling of Sherlock just filling him over and over again. The scent of sex and semen was thick in the air, and John stared at his lover's face, still so pale, but with rosy spots high on his cheeks, which set off those gorgeous cheekbones.

Sherlock at last began to pick up speed, and came in for his climax with a few stutters of his hips, and then finally burying his cock deep inside John and just holding it there as he emptied his balls into his lover's well-fucked arse. He collapsed forward onto his hands on either side of John, reaching down to kiss him thoroughly.

They lay there like that for some time before John's body began to force Sherlock's wilting cock from his arse. Sherlock kept John's legs up in position for a moment longer though, as he checked the red, puffy edge of John's anus for any damage. There was none to be seen, but as he watched, John clenched a little and a dribble of Sherlock's own come dripped out of John's hole, only to slide down back behind his balls. Sherlock couldn't resist, and bent down immediately to lap up the substance, thick with his own taste and that of his partner.

"Oh god, Sherlock," John groaned, "let me down! I'm not 20 anymore, you know!"

Sherlock finally released John after a quick kiss to his exposed hole. John's legs fell down, feet to the floor, and he could only lie there for a moment and try to get the feeling back into his legs. Good god, that was... spectacular, thought John. Sherlock, he noticed, was not taking time to back in the afterglow. He did up his clothing immediately and when he made for the door before John even had his pants up, John asked where he was going.

"Oh, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. Meet you in the hallway in a few minutes, okay love?"

John's lips curled up in a smile. He'd heard that the first half of that line before - but he liked it better this time around.


End file.
